Hated (Hearts of Stone #3)

by Christine Manzari

  The radio hummed low, some country song droning in the background. Drew had put it on this station when he rode with me to the hardware store and I’d never gotten around to changing it.

  “It’s not your home,” Austin finally said.

  He was both right and wrong, but I didn’t tell him so. I kept waiting for him to ask why. Why Texas? Why didn’t I come to Vegas? Why did I cut him off?

  But he didn’t, and instead of relief, I felt sad. If he didn’t want to know, then that must mean he didn’t care anymore. If he’d given up on us, there was no way I was going to confess anything to him because it would only cause unnecessary pain.

  Austin rested his elbow on the center console and tapped his fingers against the old plastic. “So, is it okay if I visit Nana Ruth? You’ll give me the address?”

  My eyes widened in surprise that he’d want to take a trip down to Texas just to visit, but it also warmed my heart. “Yeah, of course. She’d like that. Only…”

  I could feel Austin’s gaze turn on me as I kept my eyes on the road. “Only what?”

  Flicking on my blinker, I made the turn into the parking lot for the trail and guided the truck into a space. I switched off the engine and spun around in my seat, pulling my knee up and leaning against the window so that I could explain.

  “She’s not the same,” I warned him. “Because of the stroke, she’s had paralysis, memory loss, and depression.” Absentmindedly, I twirled my key ring around my finger, listening to the keys clash against one another. “We’ve hired amazing physical and occupational therapists to help her and she’s on the best meds money can buy, but—” I tried to swallow back the emotion that was tight in my throat. “She doesn’t always recognize Beth, and she forgets Jimmy’s name all the time. The doctors think she suffers from dementia and that the stroke made it worse.”

  Austin reached out and grabbed my hand, stilling the nervous energy I’d subjected the keys to. He rubbed his thumb along the side of my hand. “That’s okay. I want to see her.”

  “She might not know who you are.” I wondered if that thought terrified him as much as it did me. Somehow, I felt like the moment that Nana didn’t recognize me anymore might be the moment I ceased to exist.

  “It doesn’t matter if she knows who I am, as long as she knows I came to visit because I care about her. She doesn’t need to know names or faces to know that she’s loved.”

  My lips quivered, half of me wanting to cry at the beauty of his words, the other half wanting to fall back into old habits and tease him for one of his deep thoughts like I used to when we were kids.

  “She would like that,” I told him.

  He dropped my hand and reached for the door handle. “Now that that’s settled…” He unfolded himself from my passenger seat and got out of the truck. Gripping the top of the door frame, he leaned back in and locked eyes with me. “You get the gear. I’ll get the bikes.”

  “So bossy,” I accused him.

  “Such a smart ass,” he shot back.

  Austin went around to the back of the truck, dropping the tailgate and then securing the ramp to get the bikes out. I reached into the back seat for our bags, and when I saw Pauly’s old helmet there nestled next to a box of Nana’s craft supplies that I’d meant to take to the dump, all I could think about was the hours I spent cleaning up popcorn earlier in the day.

  I cast a quick glance out the rear window to make sure that Austin wasn’t paying any attention. Then I rummaged through the box, found the container I was looking for, removed the lid, and dumped the contents into the helmet.

  It took a while for me to tamp down my giggles and get my expression schooled into one of innocence and by the time I’d managed to do so and gather everything, Austin had already unloaded both bikes.

  I shut my door and tucked his helmet under my arm, letting mine dangle from my fingers as I carried the rest of the gear with my other hand. We donned our jackets. I handed him his helmet and when he lifted it over his head, glitter rained down like his own personal, shiny monsoon.

  Austin’s body went still, his arms lifted with his helmet poised over his head as the last bits of sparkly dust fluttered down over him. He blew out a puff of air, spitting glitter out of his mouth. I could no longer hold back my smile, and I made a huge show of appreciating his new getup.

  “Huh,” I said in happy surprise.

  “Go on,” he urged. “Get it out of your system. Say whatever it is you have to say.”

  I stepped forward and brushed a bit of glitter off his shoulder. “I guess Edward Cullen isn’t the only boy who sparkles.” I furrowed my brows and leaned in to whisper to him. “Are you sure you’re not a vampire, Austin?”

  He leaned toward me like he might answer or kiss me and then he shook his head, flinging glitter all over me. “Is that your way of admitting that you want me to bite you?” he asked, one side of his mouth lifting up in a smirk. He shoved the helmet onto his head, and then began to buckle it under his chin. “All you have to do is ask.”

  And then he turned away from me and swung his leg over the seat of Pauly’s old bike, his entire body glittering in the late day sun, like a boy-shaped disco ball.

  He seemed completely unperturbed by my prank, which I had to admit, was annoying. All I could hope for was that the glitter had been as successful as the popcorn in getting into all the available nooks and crannies. Austin started his bike, and when he reached between his legs to adjust himself and his expression briefly turned to one of discomfort, I smiled to myself.

  Talk about glitter balls…

  — AUSTIN —

  14. CANASTA & SACRIFICE

  SIX YEARS AGO — SUMMER 2011

  BEFORE SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL

  The four of us stared at the wreckage of what was once my mother’s pride and joy—her brand-new Lexus.

  “Satin Cashmere? Is that seriously what they call it?” Frankie asked, turning her nose up at the car. “That’s almost more pretentious than the fancy ass boat shoes she bought you to wear around the neighborhood.”

  Satin Cashmere was the name of the paint color my mom had chosen for the car, not what the seats were made of. The seats were leather and, unfortunately, also ruined.

  “Mom is going to be so pissed,” Abby warned. She turned to face me, her eyes wide with worry. “When she finds out, she’s not going to let you guys go to the Rising Stars auditions.”

  My mother had been using that threat to keep Dallas and me in line all week long. She was looking for an excuse to not let us go, and our current situation just might be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  “You could always tell her you did it.” Dallas ruffled Abby’s hair affectionately before giving her a smirk.

  His lack of concern wasn’t surprising. The only thing he took seriously was his music, and my mother hadn’t come up with a threat yet that she’d successfully used on Dallas. They fought a lot, but he used his frequent sicknesses as a weapon to get his way every time.

  “You should have listened to Frankie,” Abby accused, pointing her finger at him.

  Frankie put her hands on her hips and surveyed the aftermath of Dallas’s joy ride. “Blabby’s got a point there, Mozart. I did tell you that you couldn’t handle it.”

  Abby stuck out her tongue at Dallas before giving him a look of superiority at Frankie’s off-handed compliment. She hated when Dallas and I called her Blabby, but to our little sis, Frankie could do no wrong.

  Frankie stepped closer to the car and inspected the huge dent and broken window. The crushed door and shattered glass weren’t the only casualties though. There was wet paint all over the exterior of the car as well as the leather seat inside. And the fact that all four of us were also covered in varying degrees of paint only secured our guilt.

  “I’m not sure what we should be more scared of,” Frankie mused, stepping away to get a look at the carnage in all its glory. “Your mother or my brother.”

  My parents had gone out on a date t
o some charity benefit at the country club and left Dallas and me at home with our sister. Mom had ordered us a pizza and expected us to stay in and watch Netflix, but one look at Frankie riding her dirt bike around the homemade track she’d made behind her house had brought all of us outside to watch.

  And then Dallas insisted on giving it a try. Frankie outright refused to let him use her bike, but after he begged relentlessly, she finally agreed to let him use Pauly’s bike.

  Undoubtedly, a decision she was now regretting.

  Despite being a musical genius, Dallas wasn’t very coordinated when it came to physical things. But Frankie was a great teacher and took her time instructing him on the basics.

  Everything had been going fine until Jared and his friends showed up, chucking paint-filled balloons at us. Somehow, he must have known that Nana Ruth was out playing Canasta with her friends and that none of the DiGorgio brothers were around. Otherwise, he never would have risked targeting their little sister. And that’s exactly who he’d been going for. Frankie.

  She’d done a pretty good job of dodging most of the balloons, but Dallas hadn’t been so lucky. He took one balloon to the helmet, lost control of the bike and bailed. That resulted in the dirt bike attempting to tunnel through the side of my mother’s car. After that, Jared and his friends used the broken window as target practice before racing away.

  Frankie was right. We were in deep shit.

  She reached up and tightened her ponytail, leaving streaks of paint in her hair. Then she lifted Pauly’s bike up, swung her leg over the seat, and flicked the kick starter. When it rumbled to life she shrugged, let it idle for a few moments and then shut it off. She looked over her shoulder at us.

  “Okay. First things first. We clean up as much as we can. And then when the parental units come home, I’ll explain what happened. Pauly’s bike is running fine. It has paint on it, but he might think it’s cool. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

  Dallas nearly choked on his laughter. “You’re going to explain what happened, Frankfurter?” He chuckled some more. “Not that it wouldn’t be entertaining to watch you try to negotiate with Chantel, but she’s going to legit lose her shit over this, and you’re the last person she’s going to believe.”

  Frankie ignored him and headed toward the shed in the back yard, steering Pauly’s bike to safety. “Let’s worry about that later,” she called over her shoulder. “We have a shit ton of paint and broken glass to clean up first. The better it looks when she comes home, the less likely she is to tear us all new assholes.”

  Encouraged by that truth, we all sprung into action, doing our best to turn the disaster into a minor mishap. At first, no one noticed that Frankie didn’t immediately come back from taking the bike to the shed. We cleaned up our mess, then we cleaned ourselves, and once we had our stories synced up like the watches of spies going behind enemy lines, we parted ways and went to our separate homes.

  We didn’t know until later that while we were cleaning up the mess, Frankie had gone inside and called Chantel to confess her side of the story. She told our mom that when some kids from school decided to use her as target practice for a prank, she lost control of the bike and crashed it into the side of Mom’s new Lexus.

  Frankie swore that she’d been alone outside and had no one to corroborate her story. She also swore she didn’t know who the culprits of the paint-filled balloons were. Frankie could have thrown Jared under the bus for his involvement in the incident, but she didn’t. I figured that was because she had her own sense of justice planned for him. And to be honest, Jared would have fared better as a victim of Chantel’s wrath instead of Frankie’s.

  Frankie could have told the truth about my siblings and my involvement, but she didn’t. I knew it was because she didn’t want to give my mother even the smallest chance to take Rising Stars away from Dallas.

  In the end, my mother went straight over to the DiGorgio house as soon as she got home and confronted Nana about Frankie’s carelessness. My brother and I never even got a chance to be involved.

  Nana knew there was more to the story than Frankie was telling, but didn’t try to force her to divulge more than she was willing. As punishment for the story she’d given, Nana grounded Frankie from her dirt bike for a month and also forced her to pay back my mom to have the repairs done on the car. Then she sent her to her room where she was currently talking to me over the walkie-talkie from a dark window while my mother was downstairs, still berating Nana for her lack of control over her granddaughter.

  “Why did you do that?” I was furious. It wasn’t fair that she should have to suffer for something that we all shared blame in. “I’m coming over now to tell her the truth,” I said, rummaging around, looking for my shoes.

  Frankie sighed over the speaker, and I could tell she was rolling her eyes. “Well, that would be stupid. Then we’d all be in trouble, and you guys wouldn’t get to do Rising Stars.”

  “So?” Who cared about Rising Stars? Frankie would have to work for months to make enough money to make repairs to my mother’s precious car.

  “So,” she said like she was about to reveal a great secret, “I’m going to be punished either way, whether it’s for what happened or the little white lies I told. Why should we all go down for it when I’m already taking the fall? No sense in everyone being punished at this point.”

  “Because we’re all at fault.”

  “Austin,” she said with what sounded like exhaustion. “If your mother finds out Dallas was on a dirt bike and was the one to get in the accident, she’ll take more away from him than just his chance at Rising Stars. She already treats him like he’s fragile. Don’t let her take away the little freedom he has. You saw how he was smiling after he fell off the bike.”

  I sat down on my bed, staring through my window and across to hers where she was hidden in the shadows. “He only ever smiles like that when he plays music,” I said, understanding.

  “Right. And if your mother knew the truth, she’d take both away from him just to keep him safe.”

  “And that would kill him,” I muttered.

  Neither of us spoke for a moment.

  “It’s not a big deal. I don’t mind. Your mother never liked me, so I’m not giving up much. He’s been so sick lately, Austin. Don’t let her take away the good from him.”

  I leaned forward and ran my fingers along the strings of the cello, knowing Frankie was right, that I couldn’t give my mother a reason to take away the chance at Rising Stars.

  “I don’t deserve you,” I told her in a husky voice.

  She laughed. “I might make you tattoo that on your body. That way—”

  “I’m serious,” I said interrupting her. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  She didn’t answer right away, but then finally, the walkie-talkie made the clicking sound that let me know she was ready to talk. I thought maybe the pause meant that she was going to give me an emotional answer, but I should have known better.

  “Well, you certainly wouldn’t be doing Rising Stars. Dueling Cellos wouldn’t even exist without me.”

  Frankie Fucking DiGorgio. If I’d been in the same room with her, I would have kissed that snark right out of her until I’d earned the right to deserve her.

  “You’re right. I’d be nothing without you.”

  “As long as you know it, Stone.”

  Suddenly, Frankie’s front door opened, and my mother stepped out on the porch, haughtily wrapping her coat around her body.

  “Looks like Mom is on her way back home,” I said, and I wasn’t sure if it was a warning for Frankie or me.

  “Well, stick to the story and don’t fuck it up. Promise me.”

  I considered defying her and telling my mom the truth, but then I remembered everything she’d said about Dallas. He would bear the brunt of my mother’s overprotectiveness.

  “I promise,” I finally said.

  And that’s how I let Frankie take the fall for the Satin Cashmere Ma
ssacre.

  ***

  The Satin Cashmere Massacre. Paint-filled balloons had nothing on a helmet full of glitter. It had been days since Frankie’s prank, and I was still finding shiny bits of dust in places it had no business being. Which just proved that sometimes the simplest pranks were the most effective. And getting rid of glitter wasn’t the only thing I was having trouble with.

  I knew that allowing myself to get close to Frankie again was a risk that had very little chance of coming out in my favor. And still, I couldn’t stay away. It was the same feeling I had whenever I saw a street vendor selling hot dogs. I knew that giving in to temptation would end badly with me hugging a toilet somewhere, but I always convinced myself that even one bite was worth any amount of suffering I would have to endure later.

  Frankfurter. That was what Dallas always called Frankie and I had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. She was my very own street vendor hot dog, bad for me in so many ways but too tempting to resist.

  I spent my evenings riding dirt bikes on the trail with her. I never apologized for leaving her that morning, or for the cruel words I’d said, because we both knew that they were true. Just like we both knew she was planning to leave once the house sold.

  The smart thing would have been to ignore her like I’d originally planned, but it had become clear I wasn’t strong enough for that. And there was a part of me that craved the friendship we once had. Being around Frankie was like taking medicine for a disease I was too proud to admit I had.

  We still spent our days apart, her fixing up the house, me putting plans in motion for my future, both of us in complete denial about what the end of summer would bring. And yet it was a silent agreement that our evenings were for each other and the trail. After our ride, we’d put the bikes back in the shed and part ways with silent promises and unspoken regret.

  Most nights, I’d lift my window before sitting down to play the cello, and I’d see her lift her window to listen. Sometimes she’d use the walkie-talkie to make requests, but most often she listened quietly, just like she always had.